


Temperance

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Best Big Brother Gladio, Dadcor, M/M, Rated M for later Chapters, Semi Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12062886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Cor Leonis is the awkward new professor at Lucis University, where he is struggling to keep afloat while providing for his troubled godson. Gladiolus Amicitia is possibly the worst student he’s had yet: He’s always late for class when he isn’t skipping entirely, and he doesn’t even bother to come up with a halfway-convincing excuse. What he isn't telling Cor is that he's taking extra shifts at a local diner in order to raise his kid sister on his own. When Cor finds Gladio bussing tables one day, they strike up a friendship that might prove more complicated than either of them expect.(Fill for a prompt on the kinkmeme)





	1. Chapter 1

The door to the fire escape behind Cor Leonis' apartment building was shamefully easy to open. Part of this was due to age and wear, but if Cor had to make an educated guess, he'd have to say that the duct tape wedged in the door-jamb definitely helped. The hinges were oiled as well, so that when Prompto Argentum, Cor's ten-year-old godson, wheeled Cor's ancient bike out of the stairwell and onto the lot, he hardly made a sound. 

Prompto blew his long blond bangs out of his eyes, and shakily swung himself onto the seat of the bike. He took the long way around, down a beaten track between the apartment and the dog park, and caught up with Cor at the end of the street. When he slowed down, he wobbled dangerously, and Cor grabbed his handlebars with both hands. 

"Hey, Uncle Cor," Prompto said. "Funny meeting you here."

Cor smiled at him, and the boy grinned. They were probably the worst-kept secret in the complex. The apartment building was meant for single professors and staff of Lucis University, and the board of directors had made it clear that families would lose any chance of subsidized housing unless they moved to the other side of town, where property values were higher. Cor had a feeling they'd look even _less_ kindly on him and Prompto, given that Cor was still mired in what had to be the dullest, longest legal custody battle in recent history.

The problem was that, according to the state, Prompto was still living with the Argentums. So Cor had to bribe his building manager with free beer on Saturdays, Prompto had to sneak out the fire escape in the mornings, and when they were caught, they pretended that Prompto was just visiting. 

Forever.

"You have a full day today?" Prompto asked, as Cor helped tow him up the hill. The air held the chill of early spring, and Prompto was wearing one of Cor's old vests, a skull-print relic of his teens. The vests and cardigans Cor wore these days were more for comfort than style, all in earthy shades of brown and red, and even though his colleagues didn't mention it, he knew they made him look at least a decade older. He glanced down at his godson's dangling feet, and Prompto reluctantly started to pedal.

"I have office hours until six today. You want to come by?"

Prompto looked away. "I mean. If you're working, I don't wanna bug you or anything."

"No one ever visits during office hours, Prom. We can go out to dinner after, if you want. Crow's Nest sound good?"

Prompto's anxious look melted into pure delight. "Yeah!" he said. "Yeah, that'd be great!" He squeaked when Cor pushed him over the crest of the hill, and the bike swayed back and forth as he tried to keep eye contact. "I'll come over right after school!"

Cor pointed to the street, and Prompto turned his head just in time to avoid a trash can. Cor watched him go for a moment, pulled out his phone, and sighed.

Seven-fifty. Why the hell had he signed up to teach an eight-am class? He hadn't been able to manage them when he was an undergrad. There was no reason why, almost ten years later, that was likely to change. Oh, well. If he booked it, he'd probably make it to class before his students employed the fifteen-minute rule and fled for the hills.

Lucis U was the sort of college that laid the foundation for the rest of town, which had built up around it piece by piece over the past two centuries. The founder's building, where Cor's eight am Classics 150 class was held, was set directly in the center of town, was made of wood and ancient brick, and had no central air or heating. All the windows were open despite the cool breeze, and Cor could see students pressed as close as the tilted glass would allow, arms dangling limply over the sides. He unbuttoned his cardigan just in case and raced up the front steps. 

When he made it to class, half the students were already putting their books away. 

"It's only thirteen minutes," Cor said, shedding his cardigan and draping it over the back of his chair. "You aren't getting away that easy."

The class, mostly made up of college freshmen and the occasional junior in need of an extra credit, groaned. 

"I can only hope you did the reading this time," Cor said. "I'm not fond of talking to myself. Caelum." 

"Whuh?" A dark-haired freshman in a black hoodie jumped in his seat, and guiltily popped his earphones free. 

"That friend of yours is absent again," Cor said, nodding to the empty seat next to Noctis. "Would you care to tell Mr. Amicitia, when you see him, that he can only miss six class periods before he fails?"

"Sure," Noctis said. He sank down into his usual early morning slouch. "When I see him."

Cor barely resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew the kids had a _Cor Leonis bingo going_ —His colleague, Aranea, had shown him one of the cards—and even the mention of Gladiolus Amicitia was enough to check off at least three of the boxes. Gladiolus was both the worst and best student to have in an entry-level Classics course. He was fiercely intelligent and always did the reading—When he bothered to show up. He engaged in the sort of passionate debate-style that most professors dreamed of—When he wasn't getting so deep into banter with Noctis that Cor had to separate them. He dressed like one of the lackadaisical students who used Cor's classes to coast, all in backwards baseball caps, sweatshirts, and ratty black jeans, but he questioned _everything._ Cor would almost think that he cared, if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't bother to come to class on time. 

"So," Cor said, and leaned against the edge of his desk. He pulled a book off the top of the desk and flipped through it. "Who can tell me about the main conflict between Gentiana and the Oracle in Gainsborough's _Thrall of the Moon,_ and how this reflects the author's collaboration with Fair and Strife in ME 730?"

A sea of blank faces stared back at him, and the last withering hope in Cor's chest, the one that had encouraged him to become a professor in the first place, died a little. 

Right. Looked like this would be a lecture after all. 

Twenty minutes before the end of class, Cor heard the unmistakable click of the door opening. He turned to see Gladio there, inching his way past the row of cheap busts on the bookshelf, dressed in what had to be glorified pajamas masquerading as gym clothes. He had bags under his eyes and his hoodie was drawn up over his hat, a sure sign of a hangover. Cor raised an eyebrow, and heard the scritch of students marking yet another square of Cor Leonis bingo.

"Mr. Amicitia," Cor said. 

"Professor Leonis," said Gladio. He slipped into his seat next to Noctis, who cracked open an eye and nudged him on the shoulder. 

"Mr. Amicitia." Cor caught himself pinching the bridge of his nose and cursed inwardly. "What did the Chosen King say to Bahamut when he needed more time during the Astral War?"

Gladiolus rolled his shoulders and pushed his hoodie back. His hair was growing out a little, like he hadn't bothered to shave up the back and sides that morning. "I dunno," he said. "You want the Fleuret translation, or the Harrin one? 'Cause I like how in the second one, he doesn't say shit about like, destiny or whatever. He just asks if he can have a few more days to fish."

"Which is a metaphor for..."

"Fishing," Gladio said, and there were one or two scattered laughs. Cor narrowed his eyes. 

"Stay after class for a moment, Mr. Amicitia," he said, and looked back to his book, trying to ignore Gladio's careless, exhausted shrug, or the shadow of a smirk on his best friend's face.

Gladio approached Cor's desk at the end of class like he was visiting an old friend, stopping to lean on one of his classmate's chairs while Cor cleaned off the dry-erase board. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, actually," Cor said. "You've been absent from class four times in the past three weeks. If this continues, it'll be an automatic failure, and it's too late to drop and save your GPA."

"I know, sir," said Gladio. 

"Do you have a _reason_ for this lack of interest in your education?" Cor asked, perhaps a little too bluntly for politeness. Gladio only shrugged.

"I don't believe in excuses, sir."

"You're a senior," Cor said. "I get it. Classes like this are here to compliment your major, but I've learned, Mr. Amicitia, that it's how you behave in classes you don't care for that shows the kind of student you can be."

"Not like I don't _care,_ " Gladio said, and drew back, lifting his cap to run a hand over the top of his head. Cor just waited, and he straightened. "Whatever. Fine. I got class in an hour."

"Yes. Wouldn't want to miss it," Cor said, and Gladio opened his mouth to speak, shut it sharply, and stalked off towards the door. Cor waited until the door swung shut, and looked out over his empty classroom.

"That," he said, in a soft voice, "could have gone better."

 

\---

 

Prompto slipped into the Classics department offices at five, clutching his digital camera in both hands like a shield. A few months of living with Cor hadn’t done much to help him shake his painful shyness: When he was alone with Cor, Prompto could chatter nonstop, but the moment he was in a room with another adult, he sank into a fearful silence. He shifted from foot to foot, his heavy backpack slung over one arm, and craned his neck over a bust of Shiva on the receptionist’s desk. 

“I’m right here, Prom,” Cor said, waving an arm. Prompto pattered over to his office and peered inside. Cor’s office was the smallest in the department, but he had a few chairs he’d stolen from the lounge area, and he’d tried his best to add a few personal touches. Prompto stared up at the pictures hanging over the window and blanched.

“Uncle Cor,” he said, in a horrified tone. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Cor turned around, and saw the selfie Prompto had taken of the two of them a year ago, back when the whole custody mess had started. Prompto had walked halfway across town to Cor’s house in the middle of the night, and Cor had taken one look at his anxious, tear-stained face and let him in without a word. They stayed up most of the night watching nature documentaries, not broaching the subject of what had brought Prompto there, and when Cor asked Prompto what he’d brought with him in his plastic bag, Prompto had taken out his camera and asked to take a picture.

“It’s a good one,” Cor said, keeping his expression level.

“The lighting sucked,” Prompto said. “And I look like a ghost.”

“You look great,” Cor told him. “Hey. Can you check outside?” Prompto scooted his chair back, and leaned precariously out the door. “Anyone there?”

“Nuh uh,” Prompto said. “No, wait, there’s a—crap!” He ducked forward and tried to frantically scoot his chair into the room again. He made it about five inches before Aranea Highwind, professor of the 300 level Classics courses and fencing team instructor, swooped in like a bird of prey.

“Leonis!” she said. “Is this the nerdling?”

Prompto stared up at her, a field mouse caught in the eyes of a hawk. She grinned and crouched down next to his seat, holding out a hand. “Give me five, kid,” she said. Prompto gave her a dubious look and slapped her palm.

“Please tell me you’re here to teach this guy how to grow a sense of humor,” she said, jerking her head towards Cor. Prompto bit his lower lip and looked from her to Cor, clearly caught between his overwhelming shyness and a need to defend his godfather.

“He’s totally funny,” Prompto said at last. “He’s just… quiet about it.”

“Thanks, Prom,” Cor said.

“Like when you did the chocobo dance at my birthday a few years ago,” Prompto said, to the obvious delight of Aranea, “Even though you didn’t want to.”

“Really?” Aranea said. “How did this chocobo dance go, exactly?”

Prompto opened his mouth to reply, and Cor stood. “Sorry, Aranea,” he said. “We have dinner planned. You’ll have to wait for the dramatic reenactment.”

“But I _can’t_ wait,” Aranea said, standing as Cor gestured for Prompto to get up. “I have to know. What’s the chocobo dance, Cor?”

“We have a reservation,” Cor said, pushing Prompto towards the door. Prompto lowered his brows.

“No we don’t,” he said. “We’re going to the Crow’s Nest.”

“Special occasion!” Cor croaked, and fled, trying to ignore Aranea’s low, throaty laugh behind him. Gods, this was _one_ aspect of his past that he would _never_ live down.

They walked together across campus, Prompto stopping now and then to take pictures of budding flowers, squirrels, or interesting tree branches. He apologized every time, as if having a hobby was something to be _ashamed_ about, and insisted that Cor could go on without him.

“I won’t leave you behind, Prom,” he said, and Prompto flushed pink, ducking down to take a wide shot of the cobblestone path rather than reply. 

The Crow’s Nest was a few streets down from the edge of the quad, and there were more than a few students already crowded up near the old pinball machines. Prompto ran to a booth and slid in while Cor went to the diner counter to pay, and came back bearing two oversized drinks emblazoned with a Kenny Crow logo. When he sat down on the other side of the booth and asked to see Prompto’s pictures, Prompto handed his camera over silently. 

“Something on your mind?” Cor asked, flipping through the photos. “I like this one, with the shadow of the leaves on the grass.”

“Oh.” Prompto’s smile was weak. “Thanks. I, um. I’m trying out these new angles, from that book you checked out of the library.”

“It’s paying off,” Cor said. Prompto ducked his head and fiddled with his placemat. There was a rattle of ceramic as a heavily tattooed man passed by their table, bearing a tray of dirty dishes. He stopped and hefted the tray in his arms. 

“You guys got everything you…”

Cor and Prompto looked up, startled by the creeping dread in the man’s gruff voice. Gladiolus Amicitia stood there, staring at Cor with more than a little horror, muscles bulging as he held the tray of plates in one place. Cor struggled to come up with something suitable to say.

“Professor Leonis,” Gladio said at last, in a tight, short voice. Prompto’s brows rose. 

“You’re one of his students?” he asked. “But you’re so _tall._ ”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your vegetables.” Prompto rolled his eyes, and Gladio snorted. “A skeptic, huh? I got a friend like that: Never ate a carrot in his life. You should see him sometime. Scrawny as they come.”

Prompto, to Cor’s shock, didn’t shrink or cower like he usually did around strangers. He gave Gladio a real smile, and drummed his fingers on his glass. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. 

Gladio smiled back, but his expression died as soon as he turned to Cor. “I’ll, uh. I gotta see about these,” he said, and jostled the tray. He clanked his way into the back of the diner _just_ a little faster than he probably had to, and Cor frowned to himself. What was he doing working outside of the school? Lucis U’s endowment meant that all incoming students got full rides, as well as an offer of room and board at the dorms. The major stipulation there was that taking a job that wasn’t a work-study program would put students at risk of losing their scholarships. You had to be pretty desperate to risk moonlighting. 

Prompto tapped Cor’s hands and leaned forward. “He’s like a _supermodel,_ ” he whispered. “Or a wrestler. Did you see his tattoos? They were like wings.”

“Prompto, it’s rude to talk about people,” Cor said, but Prompto paid him no mind.

“His bicep was like, the size of my head.”

“I wouldn’t call it _that_ big.”

Prompto twisted around just in case Gladio came back out the same way. “You’re so lucky,” he said at last, with just a touch of reverence. “You get the _cool_ ones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads-up! In real life, I do _not_ support professor/student relationships. There’s a real power imbalance there, and that’s something that won’t go unaddressed in this fic. This is a work of fiction and should not be taken as my endorsing a professor/student relationship in reality.


	2. Chapter 2

Gladio was screwed.

It wasn’t only that a professor had shown up at work. Gladio could handle that—After almost four years in Lucis U, Gladio liked to think he was on pretty good terms with most of the staff. No, it was that _this_ professor was Cor Leonis. Cor, the man who made Gladio take off his hat for the first three weeks of the semester before he finally caved. Cor, who didn’t even _blink_ when Gladio tried for the patented Amicitia charm offensive. Cor, who once threatened to mark him down for disrupting the class when Gladio was just pointing out that Shiva was, in all actuality, kind of a heinous asshole. No, Cor wasn’t the kind of professor who could respond to a smile and a wink like an actual _human._ He was a robotic monster in an ugly vest and a ridiculous cardigan, giving Gladio the same sad, disappointed look every time he saw him, like Gladio had failed to reach even the lowest rung of his expectations.

And it turned out he had a kid?

A kid in a skull-print vest, no less, who blushed and grinned and looked like the kind of shy, quiet sort who read poetry for fun and never went outside if they had to. Gladio couldn’t imagine Cor unclenching enough to have any sort of relationship, let alone a son, but he’d actually seen him _smile_ at the kid before he noticed Gladio and went all stiff and expressionless. 

Maybe Cor felt as awkward as Gladio did, and would leave before they had to see each other again. Gladio snuck out behind the counter and caught Cor speaking softly to the boy, whose face lit up like Cor was someone with a functioning _soul._

Hell of a thing.

Outside, a group of young girls shuffled by, singing along to a pop song blaring from one of their phones and shrieking with laughter. One of the girls, dressed in a purple and black dress and thick boots, peeled off from the rest and went running for the diner door. She ascended the steps two at a time, landing with a thud on the welcome mat, and waved an arm covered in beaded bracelets at Gladio.

“Gladdy!” 

Gladio ducked around the front counter in time for Iris Amicitia to fling her gangly eleven-year-old self into his arms. She dangled from his neck for a second, then dropped down, drumming her hands on his chest. 

“We’ll need to shower at the gym again,” she said, before Gladio could get so much as a word in. “They turned the water off after you left.”

Gladio held back a curse. The water department had said they were giving him until the end of the day, but it looked like they’d lied. Again. 

“I’ll give ‘em a call on the way,” he said. “How was school?”

“Boring.” Iris slung her bookbag off her shoulder. “When are you off?”

“Give me an hour.” Gladio pushed her towards the booths, secretly hoping she’d breeze right past Cor and his son and go for the back, but sure enough, Iris Can’t-Leave-Well-Enough-Alone Amicitia got one look at the kid and grinned. 

“Hey!” she said, sliding into the booth behind him. The boy’s cheeks colored pink, and he twisted around to stare. “I know _you._ You’re the kid from Mr. Ulric’s class.”

The boy’s face went, if anything, pinker still. Gladio passed Iris, taking care not to look Cor in the eye, and leaned down.

“Don’t bother the customers, Iris.”

“It’s okay.” The boy looked like he was about to fall apart with nerves any second. “I’m, um. I’m Prompto. Prompto Argentum.”

This time, Gladio _did_ look at Cor, who had a slight pinched look in his eyes. So maybe the kid was a nephew?

“I’m Iris,” Iris said, and extended a hand. Prompto took it, and Gladio sighed, leaving Iris to her inevitable new friendship. Gladio liked to think that he was pretty good at talking to people, most of the time—well, everyone except for _Cor Leonis,_ that was—but Iris was a born expert. She was like a small sun passing through a flower garden: Anyone who talked to her for more than a minute found themselves drawn to her, charmed despite themselves. He could hear her and Prompto talking as he washed dishes in the back, their high voices piping through the thin walls.

He hoped against all odds that some of Iris’ residual friendliness could have an effect on the professor, and he wouldn’t report Gladio for moonlighting.  
When he came out to help replace the sanitation buckets, Gladio blanched at the sight of Iris sitting in Cor and Prompto’s booth, her science book in front of her, talking animatedly to both of them. Cor had the slightly dazed, befuddled look most adults had when exposed to Iris’ brand of the Amicitia charm offensive, and Prompto was practically glowing. 

“I _love_ Chocobo Racers!” Prompto said, while Gladio took a _little_ longer than he had to dump out the old cleaning solution from the bucket. “Uncle Cor has cable, so I’m catching up. Did you get to the part where Ramuh takes out Master Splicer?”

“Oh.” Iris’ smile faltered, and a pang of guilt stung Gladio’s chest. “We don’t really have TV at home. But I watch it at friends’ houses!”

“Maybe you can come over sometime,” Prompto said, then blushed so dark his freckles almost disappeared. “Uh. If Uncle Cor’s okay with it.”

“I’ll have to ask Gladdy,” Iris said. “He’s my dumb brother, with the tattoos.” Gladio fled before she could start dissecting his personality for laughs, and retreated to the welcome safety of the dishwashing station. So Prompto was Professor Leonis’ nephew after all… But he lived with him? Maybe Cor would be understanding, then. If he had a kid of his own, he had to know how hard it was to keep things going while working full-time, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know what it was like to be a student. Rumor had it that he’d only just received his Master’s, after all. 

He cursed and set up the next batch of dishes for the huge, bulky sanitation machine, and grabbed a clean bussing tub. It didn’t matter. If Cor reported him, Gladio would just have to talk his way out of it, lie low for a few weeks, and get another job. 

He could do this. 

He’d be fine.

When his shift was up, Gladio found Iris alone in the booth where Cor and Prompto had been, going over her science homework. She slammed her book shut when she saw him untying his apron, and stuffed it in her backpack. 

“How’s your new friend?” he asked, as she slung her bag over her shoulders and shimmied out of the booth. Iris shrugged.

“He’s nice,” she said. “He’s kinda shy, but he takes all these really awesome photos, and his uncle’s pretty funny.”

Gladio stared. “Funny.”

“Yeah.” Iris bounced on her toes. “It’s the boring humor Iggy uses all the time, but I mean, we can’t _all_ be perfect.”

Gladio followed her out the diner. “He made a joke,” he said, in a dull voice. The sun was setting over the tops of the low buildings, casting them in a beautiful orange and purple light. “Cor Leonis made a joke.”

“It was totally a dad joke, but sure.” Iris turned, narrowing her eyes. “How’d you know his name?”

“He’s, uh. You know that professor?” Gladio said. “The Classics one?”

“The guy who’s always on your case?” Iris asked. Her mouth opened, and her face flushed with indignant anger. “That was _him?_ Oh, Gladdy, you shoulda told me! I coulda _said_ something!”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t,” Gladio said. He took Iris’ arm, and she marched at his side, her boots stamping out her fury on the sidewalk. “I don’t want to get in more hot water than I already am, kiddo.”

Iris growled darkly, and Gladio laughed. 

They stopped at the gym first, where Iris sat on a glass partition in front of the treadmills and called out questions from flashcards for Gladio’s senior poli-sci course. After a while, when Gladio moved to the weights, she read from Gladio’s assigned reading for Cor’s class, stopping occasionally to provide her own scathing commentary on the philosophers involved. Then they broke up to take showers in the locker rooms, after which Gladio refilled both their water bottles and bought a gallon jug from the front desk. 

They lived on the third floor of a small apartment complex that was technically supposed to have been torn down two years before, but the landlord had dodged the zoning board and offered reduced rent so long as any plumbing or construction problems were handled by the tenants. That meant that the light in the kitchen didn’t always work, and the door was warped so they had to lock it or risk the door popping open in the middle of the night, but it was nice enough.

Well. It would _do._

They ate ramen in the dim light of the living room lamp, both of them reading novels taken from their dad’s library. It was the only thing of his they had left, after the bank had foreclosed on the house to settle the debts neither of them knew their dad had kept acquiring. There was so much of it that Gladio still dreaded sifting through the mail, and he had to turn his phone on silent to avoid the string of creditors wondering why Clarus Amicitia, dead for the past three years, hadn’t made good on last month’s payments. 

Thankfully, the bank didn’t really care about books. So Iris and Gladio had made a deal: Gladio would start at one end of the collection, Iris at the other, and when they met at the middle, they’d trade off their favorites. So far, Gladio had made it through one shelf, while Iris was stolidly working her way through the sixth book, a thick fantasy novel about witches. 

“So when’s the water getting turned on?” Iris asked, after they’d packed up their cups of ramen and tossed them in the trash. Iris pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her dress pocket and threw it in, too, and it bounced off the rim and behind the fridge. 

“Friday,” Gladio said. He didn’t say, _I’m getting paid Friday,_ but he didn’t have to. Iris just gave him a funny little smile, kissed him on the cheek, and took one of the water bottles to the bathroom so she could brush her teeth. She slipped into her bedroom with the book, and Gladio could see the light of her pink lava lamp shining through the crack of the door.

He pulled the paper out from the back of the fridge and made to toss it back in the trash, and stopped. Feeling just a little guilty, he smoothed it out, squinting at the narrow print at the top of the page.

It was a permission form for a school field trip. The form was due the next day, with a _small fee for travel and food expenses_ and a space at the bottom for the signature of a parent or guardian. 

Gladio took a small, shaky breath, and let the paper fall into the trash. 

He knew Iris was keeping things from him. He’d intercepted parent-teacher flyers before, and notices in alarming pink paper informing him that Iris’ clothes were too short or dirty for the dress code. He’d learned how to sew after that, letting out the hems of Iris’ pants and skirts and hoping that it would be enough until she turned twelve, and all she had to do was wear the same school uniform as everyone else. They had laundry days where they washed all their clothes in the bathtub and hung them up to dry on the rickety balcony, and they were both getting better, after a few years, at figuring out how not to stretch them out or shrink them beyond repair. But all the same…

Gladio looked at the small, dark kitchen, with its cabinets empty save for one corner filled with discount ramen. He saw the gutted space in front of their couch where their TV had been until it shorted out and all the pixels went red. He saw the stains in the carpet that were probably older than Iris, the unsettling creep of mold in the corner that he kept trying to stave back. The bugs in the pantry that crawled out during the night just in time for Iris to scream and Gladio to run in with a shoe and a head full of disquieting dreams. The picture of his father and mother, framed by candles next to the doorway.

“Shit,” Gladio whispered.

That night, he fell asleep with Professor Leonis’ assigned reading only half done, the familiar sting of hunger gnawing at the edges of his mind, and the sound of Iris in the other room, laughing to herself as she turned another page in one of their father’s favorite books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big bro Gladio is trying his best.
> 
> (The update schedule might be a little slow for this one for a bit, but it won't be inordinately so. I promise!)


	3. Chapter 3

“Titus!” Aranea Highwind’s voice echoed down the hall, so full of malicious glee that Cor almost expected to hear a cackle. “I just witnessed a miracle.”

Cor ran a hand over his short-cropped hair as Titus Drautos, the man in charge of the senior seminars, stepped out of his empty classroom. He looked Cor up and down, glanced at Aranea, and left.

“Oh, come on,” Aranea said. She was wearing her go-to hangover outfit, complete with tinted glasses, a thick scarf, and a hat she probably stole from their department head’s office. She walked over and kicked Cor on the shin, as though that were an ordinary way of greeting anyone, and dug out a flask from her jacket. 

“So,” she said, thrusting the flask in his hands. “How was the very important dinner with Cor Junior the other night?”

“It was fine.” Cor pushed the flask aside. “Uneventful. Not sure we’ll go back, though.”

Aranea’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold on,” she said. “I need to take this in.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, bracing herself. “You’re early. You just offered free information about your _life,_ when I’ve spent the past year trying to piece together a secret identity for you from things like, _No, Aranea,_ and _Not now, Aranea._ And you aren’t wearing that hideous brown cardigan. This _is_ a miracle.”

“For gods’ sakes,” Cor said. He turned away, opened his classroom door, and pointedly took a grey cardigan off the hook by the window.

“No,” Aranea said. “You wouldn’t.”

“You had to mention it,” he said.

“That one has _elbow_ patches. Cor, you’re… forty. Right? Right, you’re forty. You’re too young to throw your life away for elbow patches.”

“Actually,” Cor said, with just a touch of venom in his voice, “I’m thirty-four.” He shrugged on the cardigan, patches and all, and Aranea uncapped her flask.

“You’re gonna kill me, Leonis,” she said, and took a swig. “One day, I’m gonna turn around, and you’ll be eighty years old. _Please, Aranea,_ you’ll say. _If only I’d listened to you, Aranea._ But it’ll be too late. I’ll be on sabbatical in Altissia, surrounded by naked sunbathers, and you’ll be grey at thirty-six.”

“Glad to have your support,” Cor said, and closed the classroom door.

His students began filing in about five minutes ‘til, which gave Cor plenty of time to stare at his laptop and pretend to go over his lesson plan. He wasn’t sure if he _wanted_ Gladiolus to make it to class that morning. It was bound to be awkward, and Cor was well aware that when faced with uncomfortable situations, he tended to freeze up and imitate the only parental figure he’d ever had: His sergeant in the army, back when Cor was an overeager eighteen year-old who thought rules applied to _lesser_ beings. Aranea called it The Statue. Titus, who was a veteran himself, said it was better than losing his head. Cor wasn’t so sure.

The truth was, dinner with Gladio’s little sister had been… enlightening. Prompto picked up on it a little—When they’d left the diner, he’d stopped, hands in his pockets, and looked back at Iris through the window with the same tight concern he reserved for when the chocobo from his digital pocket game was about to starve. But Cor knew.

He’d done it himself when he was being shuffled through the foster system, too _worrisome_ to stay anywhere long enough to get comfortable. He’d learned to keep his head down, omit anything that would make others uncomfortable, and twist everything he said to give a positive spin. Iris pointedly kept the conversation directed away from herself in the same way, diverting it every time Prompto asked her about her home. 

Still, she slipped up once or twice.

“You probably eat here all the time, since your brother works here,” Prompto had said, when it became obvious that Iris wasn’t going to order anything.

“Can’t afford it,” she said. Cor frowned, thinking of the Crow’s Nest bargain dinner he’d just paid for, and she cast him a worried look. “I mean, I can’t afford it on my diet. My family’s like, full of fitness nuts. My dad worked as a bodyguard for a while, and Gladdy and I used to want to do that kind of thing, too.”

“Used to?” Prompto asked. Iris shrugged, but there was a glassy, vague look to her eyes.

“Oh, you know,” she said. “It’s kind of a dangerous occupation.”

Now, Cor fiddled with the tabs on the dreaded power-point presentation he’d prepared as punishment for no one doing the reading, and tried not to watch the door. 

Gladio came in just before the clock struck eight. He wore the same hoodie he’d worn on Monday, and the shadows under his eyes hadn’t faded. His arm was slung around Noctis Caelum’s neck, the weight of him making his smaller friend grumble and slouch. Instead of sitting in their usual place in the middle of the room, Gladio steered Noctis to the back, where he boxed him into the corner in an attempt to shield him from view when he inevitably passed out. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Cor said, swiping pages back and forth on his laptop. “We can start with something easy. Did anyone finish the reading from Monday?”

Those who weren’t trying to surreptitiously fall asleep in their chairs refused to look him in the eye.

“Really? No one?” Cor’s gaze lit on Gladio, who was trying to block Noctis’ unconscious form with an uncomfortable twist of his arm. Cor opened his mouth to ask him if, as the only one who consistently did the reading, he had a _reason_ for following his classmates’ example, and stopped. Iris’ voice rose in the back of his mind, firm and matter-of-fact.

_We’ll have to shower at the gym again._

He paused. One or two of the other students, startled by his lack of resigned disappointment, risked looking up. 

“One moment,” he said. He left the room to a chorus of confused whispering, strode across the hall, and pushed open the door to Aranea’s morning class. 

“Sorry,” he said, as Aranea turned to him with a grin. “You don’t think I can borrow _Clash of the Astrals?_ ”

 

 _Clash of the Astrals_ was, by all accounts, the worst movie ever made. The original relied mostly on clay models and costumes to bring behemoths and Astral gods to life, and as such the remake used so much CG that it hurt to stare at the screen for more than a few minutes at the time. It was also the movie that Classics professors used when they didn’t have anything planned but didn’t want to set their students free on an unsuspecting campus. Cor went through his emails as his students slept, texted, and whispered to the sounds of a highly-paid actor wailing as he was sucked into a giant, phallic crystal. 

“Providence!” he shouted, as a lens flare nearly eclipsed the screen. “It’s all… Providence!”

“Ha! Ha ha,” cried the man cast as the Accursed, who was wearing an awful fur coat studded with costume jewelry. “A shame the Oracle isn’t here to save you, sweet prince!”

“Bitch, you thought,” said the aforementioned Oracle, stepping out in a blaze of light.

By the time the credits rolled, they had about ten minutes left before ten-o-clock, and Cor dismissed class early. After the news nearly incited a small riot in his students’ rush for the door, Cor started trying to figure out how to shut off the damn projector. Again. He suspected that there wasn’t a professor in the country who knew how to work one properly.

“Look, man, it’s your funeral.” Cor glanced over his shoulder to find Noctis whispering to Gladio, dark brows knit tight. “If he hasn’t said anything, don’t push it.”

“It’ll be fine.” Gladio pushed his friend lightly, and Noctis shrugged before disappearing around the door. That left Gladio and Cor in the classroom. 

Alone. 

_Hell,_ now Cor _had_ to say something.

“Mr. Amicitia,” he said. He cut his losses and simply yanked the projector plug out of the wall. “It was good to see you in class today.”

“Yeah.” Gladio hunched his shoulders and tucked his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “So. About the whole… diner thing.”

For once, Cor’s tendency to freeze up came in handy. His expression didn't even shift. “I worked two jobs in undergrad,” he said. “Everyone has to go through food service at some point. No shame in it.”

“It ain’t shame that worries me,” Gladio said. 

“I won’t report you,” Cor said. “Did you think I would?”

“I dunno,” Gladio said. He rocked back on his heels. “You’re kind of anal about rules. Sir,” he added, a little too late for Cor’s liking.

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw me at your age,” Cor admitted. Gladio raised an eyebrow. “Let’s just say that I wasn’t doing nearly as well as you are. Ramen dinners every night, seasoning from a packet…” he saw Gladio’s pained expression, and stopped. “Oh.”

“It ain’t all that bad,” Gladio said. “Iris and I—“

Cor cursed as his phone hummed, blasting the factory ringtone from five years ago in the empty classroom. He checked the screen, gave Gladio a _one minute_ gesture, and swiped on the phone.

“H-hey, Dad.”

Cor took a step back. _Dad_ was a bad sign. “Prompto? Are you calling from school?” 

Prompto’s voice came out panicky and fast, with a hint of a whine. “I threw up in P.E? I’m sorry? They wanted to call home, but I said I’d call you first?”

Home. In the past, Prompto’s parents just called Cor to pick him up when he had to leave early. Other days, the school would keep him in the nurse’s office until school let out, and Prompto had to take the bus back. Either way, it always ended with Prompto’s parents complaining that he wasn’t _nearly_ sick enough to bother them during a work day. It was easier, in the end, for him to lie and call Cor directly.

“I’ll be right there,” he said. 

“I’m really sorry,” Prompto said. “I didn’t mean to. It’s going through the whole school.”

“Can’t help being sick, Prompto.” Cor hung up, and saw Gladio watching him. “I apologize. I need to find a car and cancel my afternoon classes, so…”

“I got a ride,” Gladio said.

Cor stopped, halfway to the door already. “I couldn’t ask you to—“

“My next class is at two.” Gladio said. He pulled a set of keys out of his back pocket. “And I got a little sister. I know how it is.”

And so Cor found himself climbing up into the passenger’s side of his student’s pickup, which had to be the most dangerous, rickety truck known to man. It was a repurposed plumbing truck, the paint of the old logo almost visible on the door, and it smelled like oil and freshly-turned earth. There was a tarp in the bed covering a veritable mountain of camping gear, a case of Ebony in the footrest, and a glittery charm hung from the rearview mirror.

“From Iris,” Gladio said, when he caught Cor staring. “For luck.”

Gladio needed it. Cor tried not to hang on for dear life as the truck rattled its way up the hill towards Prompto’s elementary school. Occasionally the truck would wheeze black exhaust, and Gladio had to pump the brakes more than once on the decline. 

“So how long have you been looking after Prompto?” Gladio asked, over the grumble of the engine.

“A while,” Cor said. “His parents are out of town for work most of the year.”

The look Gladio gave him was a little _too_ knowing. “Huh. My old man used to do that. Business trips out of town, night shifts, that kind of thing. But you know, the school called him when I was… gods, twelve? ‘Cause I had a fever that wasn’t breaking. He took a boat all the way from Altissia just to get home.”

He wheeled the truck around the student drop-off circle. “I’ll come with,” he said, as the truck finally sputtered to a stop. “Wanna make sure Iris isn’t in the nurse’s office, either.”

She wasn’t, but most of Prompto’s grade seemed to be. The nurse was too overwhelmed to care when Cor tried to explain that he had permission from the Argentums to pick Prompto up, and just deposited him in his care. Prompto grabbed Cor’s arm and clung to it on the way out, insisting that he could walk on his own. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, in a damp, stuffed-up wail. “I told them I was ok. I didn’t want you to get off work for me, I can. I can walk home.”

“That’ll make it worse,” Gladio said, and Prompto stared up at him. 

“Cor,” he said. “Cor, the guy with the tattoos is here?”

“He’s giving us a ride,” Cor said. Prompto looked from Cor to Gladio, and his eyes threatened to overflow with tears.

“I’m sorry I’m so much trouble,” he said. 

“It’s no big,” Gladio said, before Cor could say anything. “Hop up in the truck, kid.”

There wasn’t enough room for more than two people, so Prompto had to sprawl, sniffling miserably, on Cor’s knees while Gladio drove them back up the hill. They had to stop twice so Prompto could throw up, and after the second time, he’d lost even the energy to apologize.

When they were parked in the back lot of the apartment complex, Prompto took one look at the fire escape and groaned. 

“I’ll carry him, if you want,” Gladio said. He leaned down to Prompto. “What do you say, kid?”

“I don’t wanna walk up the stairs,” Prompto moaned, and Gladio laughed softly.

“Don’t blame you,” he said. “Come on.”

Miraculously, Prompto climbed into Gladio’s arms without protest. Gladio said nothing when Cor directed them to the fire escape, or when Cor had to check the hallway twice before they towed Prompto towards their apartment, or at the fridge wallpapered in Prompto’s early photos. He just carried Prompto through the front door, slipped off his shoes on the mat, and plopped Prompto down on the couch. 

“Anything I can do?” he asked. 

“You’ve done more than enough,” Cor said. He opened his cupboard for his emergency flu medicine, and tried not to pay attention to Gladio trying to secretly examine the apartment. “I’ll pay for gas. And…” He dug through his cabinet and pulled out a shiny foil bag. He tossed it to Gladio, who caught it out of reflex. “That tea got me through my master’s program. Tastes like shit, but it’s better than coffee.”

Gladio’s smile was crooked. “Thanks.” He looked down at Prompto, who was still lying on the couch. “Take care of yourself, Prompto.”

“I want your tattoos when I grow up,” Prompto whispered.

Cor offered to see Gladio out, but Gladio waved him off, still smiling faintly. When he closed the door behind him, Cor leaned on the kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil and trying not to think over every second of the past hour in excruciating detail. 

In the living room, there was a hiss of the television turning on. Prompto cried out, and Cor ran for him, only to see him grinning at the screen.

“Hey,” he said, blinking at Cor with feverish, red-rimmed eyes. “ _Clash of the Astrals_ is on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lovingly dusts off my favorite tropes*


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey. Doofus."

Gladio jerked awake as a brightly colored backpack plopped onto his poli-sci research, scattering pencils over the library desk. He blinked the haze of sleep from his eyes in time for Iris to slap her hands on the desktop, lifting herself up on her toes. Behind her, Gladio's friends Ignis and Noctis were trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.

"Hey, nerd," Gladio said. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I was reading that."

"Drooling on it, you mean," Iris said. She bounced on her toes. "Anyways. Important stuff first. Iggy and Noct took me shopping."

"Huh." Gladio gave Noct a warning look, but Noct's face was carefully blank. He knew Gladio didn't like accepting charity, but he also knew that Gladio's pride tended to run short where his sister was concerned. "What kind of shopping?"

"The best kind." Iris opened her backpack and whipped out a CD case, covered in glitter, with a young woman on the cover wearing a white cowboy hat. "The newest Aino Minako. C'est. la. Vie! Everyone's talking about it at school."

Gladio mentally said farewell to quiet evenings for the next month, and smiled weakly. "Nice haul, kid."

"And Iggy wants to take us out to eat at his uncle's place," Iris said, holding the CD to her chest like a precious artifact. "He says we're not allowed to pay."

"No one pays at the Scientia's," Noct added. He ducked down, skimming over Gladio's papers. "This the assignment for Professor Leonis?" he asked, lifting out a page of notes. "You know it's just an extra credit, right?"

"Some people _like_ to keep a good GPA, you know," Gladio said, snatching the paper back. "And he ain't that bad."

"Yeah," Iris said, smiling a little. "He's been drinking his gross wheatgrass juice tea all week."

"Iris." Gladio groaned as Ignis raised an eyebrow and Noct whistled low. They were his best friends, sure, but they had a bad habit of shoving their noses in Gladio's personal life, sniffing out intrigue like elderly church ladies with too much free time. Gladio started shoving papers in his own bag, pointedly ignoring their curious stares.

They ate in the back room of Ignis' uncle's restaurant, crowded together between the locked safe and the accounting table. Iris wrestled with the packaging of her CD while Ignis and Noct fought over who was going to eat the onion out of Noct's curry, and Gladio quietly wondered how much he could pack up for leftovers.

"Oh," Iris said, when Minako's voice rang in all her autotuned glory from Mr. Scientia's ancient CD player. "I forgot, I have other news, too." She leaned down and dug through the bag at her feet, and Gladio gave Noct a look.

"Don't glare at me, we didn't get anything else," Noct said. Iris sat up with a bright red paper in her hand, which she rolled around her fingers before passing it to Gladio.

"Surprise!" she said, in a shivery voice. "I've been suspended."

 

\---

 

"She was _amazing,_ Uncle Cor," Prompto said, squirming in his chair while Cor patiently dabbed at the long, ugly scratch on Prompto's forehead. Prompto's fingers drummed on the back of his camera, and he yelped at the sting of peroxide. Prompto hadn't let go of his camera since he was picked up from school, and he kept flipping back and forth between a picture of a butterfly and his own shoes. "I've never seen anyone bust someone's _tooth_ before!"

"A habit I'll ask you not to emulate," Cor said. "And that's when you decided to jump in, huh?"

"They pulled her hair, and she was _protecting_ me. I couldn't do nothing." Prompto sighed. "Didn't really do anything anyways."

"Don't say that," Cor said. He unpeeled the bandage. "You got yourself suspended. That's something."

Prompto gloomed.

In all honesty, Cor wasn't sure he disapproved. The way Prompto said it, the kids he and Iris fought had started the whole thing in the first place, pouring soda down Prompto's back and shoving him in his lunch tray. There were mustard and soda stains on his shirt to prove it, which lay in a sodden heap by the laundry machine, and Cor suspected this wasn't their first offense. And if Iris punched one of those sadistic little shits in the face and chipped a tooth or two, well, maybe they deserved the hard lesson.

"Was Iris expelled?" Cor asked.

"Nah," Prompto said. "We heard the guidance counselor talking. They're letting her stay, but she's _troubled_ now and they want her to go to counseling. Iris says she's fine. She _is._ She's the coolest kid I ever met."

Cor sighed.

"Well, you're grounded," he said. "So no TV while under suspension. But you came to a friend's defense, so if you watch it while I'm at work, I won't say anything."

Prompto beamed up at him. "Thanks, Uncle Cor."

 

\---

 

"I can't believe you're doing this," Iris wailed, as Gladio slipped her new CD into his backpack. "I thought you said I did the right thing!"

"Sure," Gladio said. Iris tripped after him down the road, a picture of terrible despair, and slumped on his arm as though she had no strength left. "But you lied, and you waited until _after_ you got the CD from Noct and Iggy to tell me."

Iris tried for a sob, but Gladio kept walking. "They've been making fun of him forever, Gladdy. Prompto said so. They're always calling him a pig and shoving him in the hallway. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Tell a teacher?"

Iris rolled her eyes, and Gladio conceded the point. 

"And this is the wrong way home," Iris said. "We aren't going to the gym, are we? The water's back on, and you went yesterday."

"No," Gladio said. He hefted his backpack on his shoulders. "What did Dad say? If you fight for someone..."

Iris frowned. "Always follow up?"

"Yeah. So we're gonna check on Prompto." He hoped Prompto liked day old Tenebraean pastries, because that's the best he was able to beg off of Ignis. He opened the side door of his truck and waved a hand. "Get in, warrior princess."

Cor came to the front door of the apartment complex wearing what must have amounted to workout gear, stripped down to a fitted tank and sweatpants. Gladio tried not to stare. The cardigans really did a number on his arms, he realized, hiding the tense muscle that curved along his shoulders, the biceps that bulged as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Gladio," he said.

"Uh." Gladio looked down at Iris, who was holding the box of pastries and grinning up at him. "I heard about Prompto. Thought we'd see how he's doing."

Cor was silent for a moment. "He's doing fine. Come on up, I'll make some tea."

"Nah, we can't just--"

"Thanks, Mr. Leonis," Iris said. She strode forward, sailing through the door like a queen, and Gladio had no choice but to follow. He fell in step with Cor, who looked at him sidelong.

"I should warn you," he said. "Prompto's got a case of hero worship."

"It'll do her good," Gladio said. "Probably."

When Cor opened the door to the apartment, both Iris and Prompto broke into excited squeals.

"Look at that scar!" Iris said, dropping the pastries in Gladio's arms. 

"Oh my god," Prompto cried.

They devolved into unintelligible babble, holding each other's arms and running through a play-by-play of the afternoon. Gladio couldn't hold back a snort, and saw Cor covering his mouth, struggling to maintain a stern expression.

"Face it, sir," Gladio said. "They're fucking cute."

"Yes I fucking am!" Iris said. Prompto gasped, and Gladio covered his face with a hand.

"You have yourself to blame for that one," Cor said, with a true smile. "Let me make some tea."

They all had the pastries together in the living room, with Iris and Prompto having a post-fight photoshoot on the carpet.

"Look tough!" Iris said, holding up the camera. "Tougher! Yeah, yeah, that's it!"

"I've created a monster," Gladio said, leaning back on the couch. Cor patted him on the shoulder.

"She's a good kid, though," he said.

"That ain't me," Gladio told him. "That's all Dad." 

Cor shrugged, letting his arms rest on the back of the couch. His hand just brushed Gladio's back, and Gladio watched him take a sip of his tea, brows furrowed in the same way they did when someone actually spoke up in class. 

"Give yourself some credit," he said. "Seems like you're doing a good job to me. But what do I know, I'm winging it, too."

Gladio smirked, and they both jumped as Prompto came bounding over. 

"I know we're grounded," he said, employing what had to be the largest damn puppy eyes known to man, "but Iris says she has the new Aino Minako CD."

Cor glanced at Gladio. Gladio looked at Prompto. Prompto whimpered.

"Oh, hell," he said, lunging for his backpack. "I guess I don't have a choice."


End file.
